


Seedling

by peevee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Canon-typical Elias being a creepy bastard, Dubious Consent, Hand Feeding, M/M, Spoilers up to S5, forced caretaking, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25991764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: “You haven’t been taking care of yourself."
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 128





	Seedling

**Author's Note:**

> Set around S2, but contains spoilers for all seasons. An anon of taste and class talked about Elias gently doting on a reluctant/resisting Jon, and this is where my mind went.

Gertrude had once told Elias that he had his _fingers in too many pies_. She had told him this without looking up from the stack of papers on her desk, a few hours before he'd found her in the tunnels, smelling of petrol. Then she’d been dead. 

It was unfortunate, Elias reflected. He’d put rather a lot of work into her development, not to mention the decades of research and expertise, only for it all to be snuffed out in less than a second. He couldn’t say that he missed her, precisely, and he certainly didn’t regret the necessity of her removal, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t acknowledge how _wasteful_ it had seemed. If only she could have - 

Well. No use in dreaming, was there?

Jon really was coming along wonderfully. He may not have had Gertrude’s knowledge or experience, but he more than made up for it with raw aptitude. Elias could already feel Jon’s new hunger licking at the edges of his awareness, even if Jon didn’t yet recognise it for what it was. Gertrude had been right, though. Elias had been busy, and now that he had the time to turn his attention a little further inward, he focussed his gaze upon his little fledgeling Archivist for the first time in weeks. 

Jon was asleep at his desk, half a mug of tea spilled and drying over a stack of statements. There was exhaustion radiating from the slumped curve of his back, several days worth of stubble on his chin, and his usually neatly-cropped hair was curling over his ears and down the back of his neck.

In his own office, Elias frowned and tapped at his chin. Well, that wouldn’t do, would it? Jon hadn’t been taking care of himself at all, that much was very obvious. Clearly Elias had been remiss in not keeping a better eye on him. He spared a quick thought to a few of those most urgent _pies_ he had his fingers dipped in - nothing that couldn’t wait - before gathering his coat and umbrella and making his way down to the archives.

He entered Jon’s office without bothering to knock. Jon startled immediately, his hand jerking enough to sweep the empty mug onto the floor, where it shattered into pieces with a crash. 

“What the -!” Jon spluttered. “What the hell - Elias? What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Jon.” Elias stepped closer to the desk, avoiding the fragments of mug. “Are you aware that it’s nearly midnight?”

“Ah, um,” said Jon, blinking rapidly. “I - well, I have work -”

“Jon,” said Elias gently. “What sort of boss would I be if I allowed you to work yourself to the bone like this? You’re clearly exhausted.”

“I don’t need much sleep,” Jon lied. The smudges under his eyes were almost purple. “And this is _important_ , Elias, I have to -”

“I can decide what’s important, Jon. There is nothing more important than the wellbeing of my employees.” He rounded the desk, ignoring Jon’s slight flinch, and placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

Jon slumped a little under the weight of his hand. 

“I - okay. Okay, I’ll go home, get some sleep -”

“No.”

Jon tensed, then looked up at him in surprise.

“No? But I thought. You said -”

“And how will I be able to trust that you’ll do as you say?” Elias said. He’d _see_ of course, but Jon didn’t know that. Not yet.

“I, uh,” said Jon warily. He was beginning to squint suspiciously at Elias. “I promise?”

“Hm,” said Elias. “No, I don’t think that’s good enough. I think you’ll come home with me.”

“I’ll _what_?”

“You need someone to make sure you’re properly taken care of, Jon. Do you have food at home, hm? A fresh change of clothes?”

He saw Jon’s eyes darting sideways, thinking. He didn’t; he hadn’t been back to his flat in days. His thoughts seemed to catch up with him, then, and he began to splutter again. 

“I don’t need to be _taken care of_!” he said, pushing a hand through his hair and making it stick up even more wildly. “Elias, this is ridiculous. Not to mention inappropriate, you’re my… I’m your employee!” He tried to stand, but of course he was still weak with sleep and exhaustion and overwork, and Elias barely had to put any pressure on him at all to keep him firmly in his seat. 

“Christ,” said Jon weakly. “Are you going to force me?”

“Am I going to have to?” said Elias, curious.

Jon’s mouth opened, then closed again. His mind was a swirling mess of muddled thoughts, paranoia and genuine fear, but through all of it there was a wavering thread of desire at the thought of being _looked after_. Cared for. He was so tired. Elias let his hand drift slowly up until the heel of it was against the side of Jon’s neck, fingers curled around the back of Jon’s skull. Jon’s eyes were still wide and wary, but he leaned almost imperceptibly into the pressure. A curl of satisfaction snaked its way through Elias, and he bit back a smile. Sweet little Archivist.

“Come on,” he said, before that thin little thread could snap under the weight of Jon’s protests. “It’ll all still be here in the morning.”

“Don’t treat me like a child, Elias.”

“Of course not. My apologies.”

“Christ,” he murmured, stooping to gather up his coat and bag. “What the hell am I doing.”

“What’s best for you,” said Elias firmly. “I’ve ordered a taxi, it’ll be outside in a few minutes. Is that everything?”

“I… yes,” said Jon. He gripped his coat tightly and pushed out of the office in front of Elias.

There was a light, drizzling rain outside the Institute, the pavement gleaming slick with the sodium orange glow of the street lights. Elias opened up his umbrella and tucked his arm around Jon so that they both fit under it. Jon went rigid at the contact, then relaxed slightly into it, and they waited in silence for the taxi to arrive. 

It was a short ride to his flat in Marylebone, Jon sitting bolt upright in his seat and squashed against the furthest window of the car. Elias let it slide and watched as they drove past the dark expanse of Hyde Park, the hotels that fringed it blinking their many eyes as their guests drew their blinds and flicked off their lamps.

-

Jon looked very out of place, dripping lightly onto Elias’ floor. He still held his coat in his clenched hands, his bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Hang your things up,” Elias called out to him from the bathroom as he turned on the taps and tested the water. He heard some shuffling as Jon removed his damp shoes and hung his coat on the rack. When Elias returned to the hall, Jon was shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, looking as if he was working up the courage to bolt. 

“Come here,” he said. Jon frowned, but didn’t move. His eyes flicked from Elias to the doorways along the hall.

“I, uh -” he said, making a move back towards the coat rack. “I should go. I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t know… I don’t -”

Elias stepped close to him and grasped him by the shoulders, ignoring Jon’s flinch at the contact. He let his hands slide firmly down Jon’s arms, then onto his waist. Jon took a short, sharp breath as Elias lifted up the hem of his jumper and began to pull it upwards. It seemed for a moment like he might resist, but then he lifted his arms to let Elias pull it over his head, and Elias felt that little thrill of triumph zing through him again. _Yes_ , it said. _Yes, let me._

Jon tensed again when Elias began to unbuckle his belt, but he didn’t resist, and finally he stood in just his underwear and his glasses, goosebumps beginning to rise on his arms and across his chest. The worm scars were odd, silvery things, scattered like sparse constellations over the skin of Jon’s arms and neck and up onto his face. 

“Come here,” Elias said again. He opened his arms and stood before Jon, and waited. And waited. And Jon… wavered. Elias could practically taste how close he was to giving in, to accepting what Elias had to give him. He made himself stand very still, hands open, expression neutral, and finally, _finally_ Jon took a tiny step forwards and into his embrace.

“Good,” Elias murmured. “That’s very good, Jon.” He slid one hand over the cool skin of Jon’s back, the other up into Jon’s tangled hair, and Jon sagged like he’d had his strings cut. He made a small noise, his face pressed tightly into Elias’ neck. Elias stroked his hair lightly and murmured nonsense as Jon stood and shivered and breathed and clutched at Elias’ back. 

“Now,” said Elias, stepping back and sweeping a piece of hair from Jon’s face with his thumb. “The bath’s ready for you.” He gestured down the hallway. Jon blinked slowly, looking lost. 

“I, uh -” he said. “Okay. Um. Yes, thank you.”

Elias touched his elbow lightly to steer him towards the bathroom, then followed him.

“What, you’re going to come and wash me, now?” Jon said. A joke, but it came out a little wobbly, too earnest.

“You’re exhausted, Jon,” said Elias seriously. “I can’t risk you falling asleep. I promise you, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Jon reddened pleasantly. “I’m not - _Christ_. This is… this is, we shouldn’t -” Jon took a sharp breath, then let it out in a resigned-sounding puff. He rubbed two fingers between his eyes, then hooked his thumbs into his briefs and dropped them to the ground. Then he clambered, long-legged, into the bath, hissing as he sunk into the steaming water. Elias pulled a chair from the corner of the room alongside the tub and sat down beside him. 

“Wet your hair,” he said. Jon opened his mouth, then seemed to decide against it, and slipped briefly into the water to get his hair wet. Elias leaned over him for the shampoo, feeling the heat and humidity of the steam rising from the water. He poured a little into his hand and smoothed it gently onto Jon’s hair, the smell of sandalwood and cedar filling the air. Jon slid a little bit lower in the water, a tiny noise escaping him as Elias began to work it into his hair, his fingers slipping back and forth over the shape of Jon’s skull. He was careful not to let any of the suds escape and get into Jon’s eyes, careful not to tug at his hair as he created a lather.

Jon was almost asleep; that much was clear from the increasingly liquid quality of his thoughts. Elias cradled his head in one hand and felt a great surge of tenderness towards him - such a breakable creature he was, so very easily damaged. It wouldn’t stay that way, of course. He was developing rapidly with each encounter, that potential for power beginning to germinate, strive for light. Here and now, though, he was so very vulnerable; an arthropod scooped from its exoskeleton, letting himself be very literally held in Elias’ palm. It was a great weight of responsibility.

“Jon,” he murmured, and Jon started a little, lifting his head. “You’ll need to rinse.”

“Right,” Jon said, his voice slow and syrupy. “Right, yes.” He sunk down into the water and scrubbed clumsily at his hair until all the shampoo was gone and the water was pale and cloudy.

“Um,” he said, as he sat upright.

“Pass me the conditioner,” said Elias. Jon blinked at him, then over at the unlabelled bottles lining the edge of the tub. “The white one,” Elias clarified. 

“I don’t normally -”

“We’ve already established that _normally_ you don’t take care of yourself at all.” Elias rubbed the conditioner between his palms and combed his fingers through Jon’s hair. He smoothed his thumbs around the curve of Jon’s ear, put a little bit of pressure into it as he fitted his fingers to the dip at the base of Jon’s skull. Jon seemed to forget whatever argument had been poised on the tip of his tongue, and he simply sat placidly and allowed Elias to touch him. 

When he was clean, hair combed through and sweet-smelling, Elias coaxed him from the bath and into a soft dressing gown that he kept for guests. Jon’s hair dripped onto the collar and down his neck, and he gave an unconscious shiver as Elias put two fingers against his elbow to guide him through to the sitting room. 

“Sit,” he said, giving Jon a little nudge towards the settee. Jon sat and hunched in on himself, looking smaller than ever in his borrowed dressing gown. 

“You’re not going to run if I leave you to your own devices, are you?” said Elias. Jon gave a weak smile, showing a few teeth. 

“I think you’d catch me before I got my shoes on. And I’m not entirely sure where my trousers are.”

“Best make yourself comfortable, then. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Hm,” Jon murmured in agreement. Elias didn’t truly think he would try to run, but he kept his awareness focussed on the sitting room anyway as he cored and sliced an apple and retrieved a butter-soft wedge of brie from the pantry. Jon barely moved, just drew himself further into the fluffy confines of the dressing gown, his eyes unfocussed. 

Elias cut the brie into bite-sized pieces and arranged them on a plate with the apple and some grapes before returning to Jon, who straightened a little as Elias approached him.

“I don’t… I’m not particularly hungry,” he said, but his eyes still tracked the plate as Elias set it on the coffee table in front of him. 

“Would you prefer the settee or the floor?”

“What?”

“Would you prefer to remain on the settee, or would you like to kneel on the floor,” said Elias, eyes tracking every tiny expression that crossed Jon’s face. Shock, incredulity, want, anger.

“I’m not kneeling on the bloody floor,” he spat. He had gone rigid again, his face very red. 

“Very well.” Elias sat beside him and moved the plate so it was just out of Jon’s reach, then hooked his arm under Jon’s knees and arranged them so that they were slung over his own legs, Jon cradled half in the corner of the settee, half in Elias’ lap.

Jon scrambled briefly in a half-hearted attempt to stand up and make his escape, but Elias clamped his arm down on Jon’s shoulder and held him still.

“What the hell, Elias?!”

“Jon. Be still.”

He stroked a soothing hand up Jon’s bare leg and back down, before tucking the dressing gown closer around him. Then, keeping his hand gripped firmly around Jon’s shoulder, he picked up an apple slice from the plate and brought it to Jon’s mouth. Jon’s eyes were wide, his lips pressed into a thin line. He was trembling slightly with residual adrenaline. 

“I don’t need to be _fed_ ,” he rasped. “I’m not… this isn’t -” he closed his eyes. “Christ.”

“Let me,” said Elias gently. “Let me, Jon.”

There was a long pause where the only sound was their breathing; Elias steady, Jon fast and shallow. Finally, Jon parted his lips and let Elias slide the apple slice between them. He chewed slowly, his face still red, eyes closed. He remained tense and trembling for several minutes, but gradually, as Elias fed him piece by piece, his limbs began to slacken, his head weighing heavily against Elias’ shoulder.

Elias let his hand drift gently through Jon’s damp hair, up over the impossibly soft curve of his ear and down his neck. His thoughts had stilled, his mind nothing but a deep, dark pool. Soon he would be marked again by another - the Unknowing approached ever faster. Elias sometimes considered it a shame that Beholding couldn’t keep him all to itself. That was really only his own selfish desires, though. What Jon would become… well. He would no doubt surpass every expectation Elias had. 

For now, Jon gave a little snuffing noise that told Elias that he had finally fallen asleep. His fingers twitched reflexively against the soft fabric of the dressing gown, and Elias gently touched his own hand to them, sliding his fingers into the soft gaps between Jon’s. Jon slept on. Elias watched.


End file.
